


The Legacy

by projectcluclu



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6871396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectcluclu/pseuds/projectcluclu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story in which C.C. and Lelouch are former lovers, one to be brought back together by the very thing that brought them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

No one knew her past.

They whispered about her, making up fantastical stories to fill up whatever gaps were in her biography. They spun wonderful yarns of fallen nobility, of shady strip clubs, of nightclubs where secrets hid in between the nonexistent gaps between the bodies grinding against one another. Some even went as far as claiming that even her husband only knew part of her history, and not all of it as he should. And while no one could neither refute nor confirm that conspiracy, her mystery was undeniably universal. They didn’t know her past. No one truly did, but in turn, they all knew one thing.

That she was beautiful.

A lady of elegance, they would murmur. An incarnation of Venus – of Aphrodite herself – they would silently speculate. Every woman who saw her wished to be her, the woman with the exquisite and silky emerald hair, the woman with the lustrous lashes and clever golden eyes, and every man who met her desired her for his own, to have the privilege of holding her slender frame and touching her soft, alabaster skin before kissing her wickedly tantalizing lips. And while they fantasized, all knew that only one man could have her.

Oh, yes. She was unavailable to all, save for this privileged individual. Four years ago, she had accepted his proposal, and four years ago, the beauty queen had given herself to one incredibly fortunate man. And by no means was her husband an unsuitable match for her. Handsome and tall; clever, intelligent, cultured, he was polite and respectful of her. He was powerful and wealthy beyond measure.

But above all, he was Schneizel el Britannia, the single man who was the incarnation of the heavens just as his wife was the incarnation of beauty itself.

C.C. was in her lavish boudoir, swathed in a dark magenta dress that had originated from some elite designer’s mind whose name she had forgotten nor particular cared for. It was so difficult to keep track of all of their names as they rushed to her: Louis Vuitton, Yves Saint Laurent, Christian Dior, Chanel… Too many of them clung too closely to her as they begged for her to be their patron and their patron only. A pity they were so oblivious to her traitorous past. Then they wouldn’t waste so much of their precious time and effort in persuading a sinner such as herself.

Satisfied with her appearance – why work so hard on something she had no investment in? – the young woman rose from her seat and left the opulence of her private quarters to glide down the sweeping staircase of the Schachmatt – her castle, home, and prison.

Her husband, wearing a tailored dove-grey suit, was waiting for her at the bottom with an obligatory compliment waiting on his lips, and, in response, she silently and discreetly reconstructed her face so that it would give off the impression of affableness. AS she took the arm he offered her, he smiled.

“You’re stunning.”

Her only reaction was the slightest of curves of her lips, and they stepped out into the cool autumn evening.

Her husband held the door of car open for her, waving aside the chauffeur before climbing in himself on the other side. As the sleek sedan pulled out of the driveway and passed through the iron-wrought gates of the fortress, Schneizel sociably asked after the origins of her dress.

“Milan.”  
“Ah, Milan… A lovely place, with wonderful weather. Would you like to go to Florence next?”

“Perhaps,” she intoned passively. As neither was much up for continuing their little façade of happy man and wife, the remainder of the journey was made in silence, with wife studying the blurred landscape rushing by and husband reading over one of the innumerable proposes or reports that were always close by on hand. It wasn’t until the bright lights of the luxurious hotel appeared on the horizon that she voluntarily spoke to him for the first time since that morning when he had left.

“Is this for business or pleasure?”  
“I thought you would be more comfortable by easing in, rather than jumping in. You’ll be meeting an important figure among the Weiss Ritter this evening. Please do behavior, Cecaniah. The both of you are incredibly important people in my life, and I would hate to have the two of you start off on the wrong foot.”

She ignored him as they cut through the gleaming lobby and entered the dimly-lit restaurant. The maître d’hôtel greeted them with a wide smile and a subtle Mediterranean accent before leading them to their private salon.

Before she even saw him, the hairs on the back of her neck rose, and an unnerving feeling crept up on her. She tried to shrug it off, but the moment she saw the young man rise from his seat, her heart stopped and her stomach turned. She nearly threw up at the sight that stood before her, and her mask betrayed her as the blood drained away, revealing her humanity for a split second.

Dressed all in black from his hair to his pants, the young man was a stark contrast against her husband, who was completely garbed in silver satin. Even his eyes – the most beautiful violet – looked black in the lighting of the small room as they drilled into her. Not that she would really know; all she had afforded herself was a quick glimpse before skirting contact. The moment she looked him in the eye and saw the hate she knew she would find would merely serve to dissolve her already crumbling defenses, so she did what she knew best; she became a coward.

“Madame. It is a pleasure and an honor to finally make your acquaintance.”  
“This is Lelouch Lamperouge, Cecaniah,” introduced her husband. “The newly-instated capobastone of the Weiss Ritter.”  
“I see,” she replied curtly. Taking the only seat available to her – the seat across from the last man on earth she wished to see – she stiffly sat, stubbornly scrutinizing the ice floating in her glass of water. She knew he was smiling, that his eyes were trained on her with despise while his lips looked on with interest and polite amusement, but she didn’t care. Nor did she really care to know anything about him. He was just another fool to her now. Nothing more than someone who had joined the underground world because of who-knows-why. Whether it had been for money, power, or just the thrill of the kill, it no longer concerned her; he’d disappear – vanish – in a matter of weeks, months if need be, withering from either drug abuse or writhing from bullet wounds or whatever other vice had attracted him to sell his soul. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter. In fact, nothing really mattered to her – not even the well-being of her spouse.

Least of all the well-being of her spouse.

Bored with the ice, she finally allowed her eyes to tentatively wander. She soon discovered that there was a lack of preoccupation that seemed almost cruel. What could she look at? Nothing caught her interest. The sparkling silverware? As if she didn’t have drawers of sterling silver knives and spoons at home. The crystal wineglasses? Laughable; she had ones made of diamonds in her cabinets. What interest did she have for crystal?

The dinner was going to drag on for an eternity. A goddamn eternity, and she was going to suffer for every second it lasted. After all, the last time she had checked, she wasn’t an immortal being.

Perhaps she could fake an emergency? Say that one of her ‘friends’ urgently needed her help with something? But what? It would have to be something that only women would be able to understand, like… Like… Oh, like picking out a dress for a date. Ah, yes, that was it. Schneizel wouldn’t question her. He wouldn’t try to prevent her from leaving. After all, he was the one who was always encouraging her to reach out and make fiends, not enemies. And if he didn’t, then she could just pretend she had menstruation cramps, something he really had to let her go home for. It would be embarrassing, but she suspected that there wasn’t much more damage she could inflict on Lelouch Lamperouge’s opinion of her. Ah, yes, that was the perfect plan. She was ingenious for…

Dark violet irises flickered up from his menu and across the gleaming plates to strike her across the cheek. Locking her in with an unsmiling, cold-hearted gaze full of calculated determination, he brazenly stared at her as a hunter would its prey. The rest of the world melted away in such a nostalgic fashion, her heart couldn’t help but tremble at the memory. Her nails digging into her palms, she eventually broke the spell, tearing her eyes away to tell the waiter she desired to be surprised and wished for the chef de cuisine to select her course for her.

Thankfully, once the waiter had left them to relay their orders to the bustling kitchen, her husband beckoned for the young man’s attention and, much to her relief, began a discussion that left little room for her the rest of the evening – something that made it all the more easier to avoid his gaze. She was finished with him for the evening, if not for the rest of her life; she wanted nothing more to do with him.

When the plates had been cleared away and the fine china tea set had returned to the kitchen, the trio finally rose to leave the suffocating prison she had been tricked into. Rather, they were on the verge of finally parting, when a shrill ringing shattered her relief and spread its shards around the well-furnished room. She watched silently as her husband answered the urgent call, traded a few tense words, before replacing his cell into his pocket. She pursed her lips, tense; that expression on his face - it was one she didn’t like.

“There’s been a complication downtown.”  
“I can go home by myself,” she promptly answered, just like the dutiful wife she was.  
“Lelouch, I want you to escort Cecaniah home.”  
“I can—” she protested, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand. Delicately tilting her chin up, he told her gently how dangerous it was for her to travel alone, especially with her status as his beloved wife. C.C. stiffened. All she could taste was bile at his words and the third’s eyes burning into her.

His cold, hard, violet eyes.

Turning away from her husband, she muttered something about understanding why he wished for her to be accompanied, leaving a barely perceptible note of disdain in her reply. Impatience slowly bleeding from her, she studied the intricate design of the carpet they stood on before briefly stealing a glance at her newly-appointed escort. Understand? Ha! As if she did. She wasn’t as much of a fool as her husband thought she was; she knew that he knew of her history, and while she had no knowledge as to how Lelouch Lamperouge had become her husband’s right-hand man of all people, she knew that the only reason for her husband to be oblivious of the past nature of their relationship was if he had lost his mind. Though perhaps he had if he really thought of her this poorly.

Not that it really mattered. She seriously doubted she’d have much cause to meet Lelouch Lamperouge frequently. They traveled in completely different circuits now, after all. So she’d turn a blind eye to this meeting and to her trembling heart. After all, she turned a blind eye to things that pained her – that had hurt her and dredged up any unnecessary and unwanted memories. This feeling was nothing new. She knew. Her life had been a harsh mentor, and an unforgiving one, and she hadn’t forgotten her lessons. With an impassive expression, she brushed by the two…the two traitors, the two conspirators, wanting nothing more than to return to her sanctuary. 

Wanting nothing more than to hide from those cruel, cold violet eyes.

Those beautiful violet eyes.

. . .

There was a palpable silence broken by nothing but the gentle purring of the sports car. No music, no conversation, no nothing. Only absolute silence to fill the abyss between man and woman.

C.C. noted how new the car was, and how luxurious. Laughable, really, considering how less than a decade ago, the only way either of them could have been sitting in a car of this quality was in their dreams. It would be stupid to pretend that everything was the same and that they would get along well. Because they weren’t going to, and they both knew it. They might have dresses and suits, luxury cars to drive after fine-dining at five-star restaurants, but not the luxury of being strangers. Not even in the slightest.

“Do you even know where the Schachmatt is?” The question was more scathing and hostile than she had intended, but it was already too late. It was already out there, hanging heavily between them, and he had already received it. She saw his grip on the wheel tighten ever so slightly, and she focused on it. She concentrated on his hand, and not his face. Not his eyes.

Never his eyes.

“I never knew your opinion of me was so low.”  
“You—”  
“Do you really think that I’d agree to take you home if I didn’t know where it was?”

She scoffed.

“It’s not as if you haven’t—”  
“Oh? I thought we had decided not to bring up the past, what with that black look you were giving me. That is, when you cared enough to look at me,” he muttered.

She looked at him, shocked by the implications of his words. Her breath stolen, she stared at him until he glanced at her and she saw the violent pain in his eyes. Immediately turning away, she looked straight ahead of her. The silence resumed but none could quite ignore the third passenger in the car. Clasping her hands together to stop their trembling, she swallowed, realizing how dry her mouth was, before whispering, “…why are you here, Lelouch?”

“Would you rather I not be here?”  
“Yes, I would very much rather that you not be here. I—”  
“Why? Is it making you uncomfortable? Is the fact that you disappeared on me all of those years ago eating at you, now that I’m here?” he spat. “Is it, C.C.?”

Anger flaring at his accusation, she snapped, “Stop fabricating the past to suit your needs. I didn’t disappear on you, and you know it. I left you a—”

The car came to a screeching halt on the winding mountain road, and he turned towards her so that she was forced to meet his smoldering glare.

“We promised each other that we would—” he started in a low growl.  
“What we promised each other,” she calmly countered, “was inevitable death and starvation. I’m sorry, Lelouch, if my decision to keep living bothers you and broke your heart, but I did what every sensible person would have done.”

He was silent. Speechless? No, not speechless. He was never speechless. Ah, that was it; he was chewing through her words, mulling over them. She could positively see the gears turning in his head as he turned her argument over and over in his head, tearing and pecking at every word, at every inflection of her tone as he tried in vain to prove to himself that she was lying.

Now he was wearing the strangest expression, as if she had just struck him across the face. C.C. suddenly felt the urge to apologize, to tell him that she hadn’t really meant the daggers she had thrown at him… But what good would that do? It wouldn’t do anything at all. So, she simply allowed for the full consequences of her actions to unfold.

He sat back in his seat slowly before opening the center console acting as a barrier between the two. Much to her surprise, she watched as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Biting back her snide comment, she tore her eyes away. He only eyed her wearily as he lit a smoke.

“Take me home, Lelouch,” she said quietly, as if she were pleading with him but not quite so. He only continued to draw on the cigarette before sending a cloud of smoke outside.

“Lelouch, take me home.”

Inhale. Exhale.

When there was no reply, she sat quietly. Not because she was intimidated or scared. It was just that… The realization that the Lelouch Lamperouge sitting besides her, smoking, wasn’t the Lelouch Lamperouge she had left four years ago unnerved her. He wasn’t the person she had fallen in love with, and there was no trace to be found of the man she had happily agreed to spend the rest of her life with.

Perhaps they did have the luxury of being strangers.

When the smoke had burned itself down to a stub in his fingers, he tossed it out of the open window before starting the engine. The sun had set long ago, and they sat in the dark. She could see only what the headlights illuminated, but as they snaked around the mountains to climb to the peak, she felt as if she were going blind. Even after the evening they had spent together, even though he sat besides her, she could scarcely believe that they had had dinner together after all those years and all the betrayal separating them. And she was almost sure that she wasn’t alone in this disbelief. She couldn’t be. Not with that look in his eyes.

Never with that look in his eyes.

. . .

By the time they had passed through the gates of the Schachmatt, they had both managed to glue the shards of their fragile masks together again. C.C. sat silently as Lelouch opened the door for her. He offered her his hand; she declined. Preferring to leather of her clutch, she flashed him a small smile that came out all twisted and grim, before turning to go up the steps of the mansion. Rather, she meant to when he grabbed her hand.

“…It was a pleasure seeing you.”

Good. They were going to act as if nothing had happened, as if they both hadn’t let their masks slip. It was for the best anyway; she was a married woman, and anything that had happened between her and him belonged in the past and should be forgotten and never…

She froze as she felt his lips graze her hand.

“Good evening, Madame.”  
“…Mr. Lamperouge.”

She didn’t look back. She told herself not to, that looking back was something she had promised herself she would never do after she had left him and lost everything. That was what she had said; that she wouldn’t look back and that she wouldn’t cry. And she always adhered to her rules. She always obeyed the rules that life had painstakingly taught her. Even when he had kissed her hand and cradled hers in his as he had used to, she would obey them to the letter. Or how else could she excuse herself from the sin she had committed so long ago?

She stopped before the mirror in the foyer, shocked to see the tears streaming down her cheeks, and wondered for how long she had been crying. She stood there, in that silent, empty house, and wondered. And then she cursed. She cursed him for returning to her, no matter if it was intentional on his part or not. She cursed herself, for being so weak and breaking so many of her rules. But most of all, she cursed the world for rejecting her and denying her the pity she had prayed for, for answering her pleas with mockery and cruelty.

All she had asked for was a life of convenience. All she had wanted was a life where she could act as if she didn’t carry the blemishes of heartbreak and the scars let behind by a grueling life filled with noting but debt. But no. She wasn’t one that the heavens looked upon kindly, what with her traitorous past; she had been a fool to champion for that innocent, carefree life. If anyone were to be granted such a gift, she would be the last. It was only fair that way.

And so, Venus wept in the cold loneliness of her palace, all alone and all heartbroken.


	2. Chapter 2

He had thought he was stronger.

He knew he was a good liar, but he could have never imagined that he was so adept that his silver tongue would fool even himself. And quite frankly, that unnerved him. What other fabrications had he fed himself? What other stories had he woven, and in his delusions, believed? And what lies would he put his faith into in the future? What dangerous delusions?

His phone cheerfully lit up, abruptly cutting through the dark of his brooding. Setting down the warm china cup, he leaned forward and with a disdainful expression, picked up the slim device to read the flashing message.

The König would like to see you at 7:30PM at Viande Rouge.

He smirked; as if he had a say in the matter. Only a fool would reject the summons, and though saying that he couldn’t attend was beginning to sound favorable, he knew he couldn’t. Even if he knew that she was going to be there, seated besides her husband with a pompous and ill-disguised glower.

A hard look set in on his face at the memory of their last meeting. Hi grip tightened till his knuckles paled to a deathly white. Of course she would be there, just as she had the last time. There was no question about it. She was his fucking wife after all. Schneizel had brought her the first time; he would bring her the second, though why he felt the need to bring such an audience was beyond him. If Kanon Maldini, the consigliore attended, that he would understand. But C.C.? She had neither any business nor any position involving the Weiss Ritter. She was nothing more than a…than an accessory for Schneizel to wave around with a smug smirk.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, fatigue suddenly crashing down onto him. He was exhausted by all of this unexpected and highly unnecessary drama and emotion. The dinner in which he had, by some cruel twist of fate, been reunited with the woman who had once been the love of his life, had taken place two weeks ago. Two weeks had passed since he had kissed her hand just as he used to all of those years ago. Two weeks had passed since he had begun going out of his way to avoid seeing her at the slightest suspicion of her presence. Two weeks had passed since his comfortable, peaceful life had been violently ravaged by the emotions that had once been so manageable and disciplined but were now running heathenishly wild.

He knew it was all just a disguise. His mind had dwelled far too much in the past during these last weeks, and the vagrant feelings – the burning anger- had returned to consume him once more to conceal his poor, broken heart.

It had never healed from that day, when she had left him. He had merely acted as if it had, choosing to build up walls around the scattered fragments so that no one – especially himself – could witness how lethal her desertion had truly been. There was the suppression. And then there was the hatred. He couldn’t forget the hatred now, could he? The hate that ate at him, that had motivated him, that had led him to the dirty, bloodthirsty, underground world of shiny, civilized Pendragon. The hate for what she had done, for leaving him and for running away. But above all this sat the loathing for himself.

He hadn’t been good enough for her. In the end, she didn’t think that he could protect her and didn’t believe him when he told her that he would give her his life if need be. He had been unable to provide for her not only what she wanted, but what she needed. In a way, he could understand why she had left. His life held a burden that shouldn’t be given to someone else to shoulder; at times, when his mood was especially dark and hateful, he was appalled by his idiocy and selfishness for putting such an incredible and inexhaustible millstone onto the one that he supposedly loved – the one that he still did love.

Never once, out of the four years that had passed, had he stopped loving her. Had stopped missing her. He had always loved her, and he still continued to do so to this very day. He hated himself for it – why love someone who clearly didn’t give two shits for him? She had left him for another man who had more money and more power than him – but try as he might, he refused to let go of her. Even though she had betrayed him, he refused to forget her and leaver her and move on with his life.

He had tried on countless occasions. He had turned to so many methods – both orthodox and immoral – just to forget that imprint she had left on his person, but nothing had worked. He had tried drinking himself numb, but the alcohol merely made his memories of her more vivid until she was lying besides him, smiling and whispering to him that she would always love him. And the drugs? Oh, the drugs were no better. Weed, meth, heroin, cocaine, LSD, ecstasy, whatever he could get his hands on, nothing fucking worked. She would always be there, in his head, with her beautiful smile. Nothing worked. That is, nothing had worked until he had turned to the life he led now. Or rather, nothing had worked until the mafia had embraced him and dragged him down to the lowest of the low and he found himself in the thick of crime, murder, and the feared and omnipotent Weiss Ritter. Which thankfully worked to his advantage.

He had risen quickly, doggedly toiling away, with fierce determination. He made a habit out of gambling with Death; he had nothing left after her departure, and no longer had anything to lose. And, preferring the rush of adrenaline and the apathy that came with being a forced murderer, he was finally able to push her out of his head until he found himself at the top of the very pyramid he had once held great contempt for and under the direct employ of the man who so happened to be the one his former fiancé had deserted him for.

He grimaced; funny, wasn’t it? How ironic the world was.

“Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Lamperouge?”

He opened his eyes to find a young woman staring at him with some degree of concern. Momentarily bewildered, he frowned. Who…? He was a frequent patron of this particular teahouse to the point where most – if not all – employees knew him by face, but this woman, she… What was her name again?

“No, I’m fine, thank you for your concern… Shirley.”

Ah, her name was Shirley. The memories were starting to seep back in; she was the ditzy one who was always smiling even when she caught her foot on something and tripped – which was often, seeing as how she was so clumsy and left-footed.

“Are you sure? Would you like another cup of tea? I know one that helps with migraines. It’s imported all the way from Cambodia, and we just got a new shipment this morn—”  
“No,” he said sharply. Realizing how uncharacteristically terse his tone was (for his persona anyway), he quickly backtracked. “No, I’m… I’m quite alright. Thank you.”  
“Oh… Well.” She beamed at him. “Would you like some macaroons then?”  
“Maybe next time.”

He returned her smile, and Shirley blushed, suddenly bashful and self-conscious of her rather dreary uniform. She had had cut her hair yesterday, and she hoped it looked okay. The strands of her ginger hair hung to her shoulders now. Not that it had anything to do with the rumor going around that the handsome client favored women with shorter hair. But she hoped it didn’t look bad. Did it? Or… Or Maybe it was obvious that she had cut it for a specific reason? N-not that she had cut it for him, per se, but oh, it would be so embarrassing if it was because then it would mean that he knew how much she—

“…Shirley?”  
“Y-yes, sir?” With wide eyes and flushed cheeks, she looked up from where she had been scrutinizing the cherry wood coffee table. Hands fluttering up to her face, she nervously tucked the loose strands from her hair behind her ear as she nervously met his steady gaze.  
“When does your shift end?”  
“My shift?”

She blinked, confused. Why did he want to know when her shift ended? It… Wait a second. Wait a second, wait a second, wait one second! This couldn’t… He wasn’t going to… Was what was about to happen what she thought was going to happen?

“U-um, my shift ends in about two hours…”  
“Then two hours from now, would you give me the honor of escorting you to dinner?”  
“D-dinner?”

At his nod, her cheeks grew warm. Dinner with Mr. Lamperouge? As in… As in a dinner date? Heart fluttering in her chest, she wrung her hands – no way was this happening. This was a dream, wasn’t it? But as he gave her a small, embarrassed smile, she realized, much to her joy, that it wasn’t a dream but reality and that he truly was in fact asking her out on a date.

“It seems I’ve been invited to a small function where I’ll be the only person without a partner. Would you care to be my date?”  
“I…”  
“I wouldn’t have anyone else with me there,” he smiled. “Only you, Shirley.”

His lips curled back at his words. To others it may look like a smile, but he knew better. The disdainful smile felt as dirty and as wrong as the lie that came out of his mouth. Only her? Laughable. If she declined, he’d simply move on to the next woman who wandered his way. Hell, he’d find someone on the streets if he had to; God knew that wouldn’t be difficult. They always came to him, like moths to a light, as if they could smell the stench of money from him. And he’d ask each and every one of them that came until one of them said yes. He didn’t really care who it was that went with him. If she didn’t have a dress, he’d buy one for her. If she didn’t like him, he’d seduce her. It didn’t matter who, so long as it was someone he could tolerate, and Shirley… Shirley, he knew, his mask could tolerate.

“I… I don’t…” She stumbled over her words and looked up at the ceiling as if she was silently praying God for the words that were so lost in her surprise.  
“You’re not going to make me go to a dinner party all by myself, are you? I would enjoy it so much more if you would only be there by my side.”

She gulped.

“Of… Of course. Of cour—Yes. Um, yes, I… I will. Go with you, I mean.”  
“Lovely,” he said softly. She blushed and hurriedly backed away, surprised by the disparity in their heights, as he suddenly rose from his seat. With herculean strength, she briefly looked up at him before returning her gaze to the floor. Oh, why was it so difficult to look at him?  
“I’ll come by at around 6:45. As for your address, you can reach me through this number.”

She took the end of the business end with two trembling hands. Nodding, she looked down at the neatly printed text: Lelouch Lamperouge – Chief Executive Officer. So that was what he did.

“I’ll see you later tonight then, Shirley.”

Her cheeks flushed a dark red as she bid him a bashful goodbye to the man’s back. As she stood there, his card in hand, she watched as several other employees rushed up to flank the doors and bow in unison as they always did for their dream-come-true.

“Please come again, Mr. Lamperouge.”  
“Ladies.”

The moment the door swung shut behind him and the entourage dissipated, Shirley collapsed into the comfortable seat her darling prince had just surrendered. Her heart was racing, and her face was so warm, oh, God, and she must look an absolute mess from being so flustered but he had asked her out so what did it matter, he had asked her out! Was this… Were they in a relationship now? Was that it? Was she his girlfriend now? Or… Or was she not? It was all so confusing, and… And, and, it—She was the only one that he wanted to go with! That must mean something, right? Right?

“Shirley! What are you doing? We don’t get paid to sit on our asses. Get up before Nina catches you goofing around.”

Dumbfounded, the young woman allowed her friend to pull her up before dazedly turning to her best friend.

“That… That wasn’t a dream, was it? He really asked me out for dinner, right?”  
“He? Who’s he? I don’t understand what you’re…” A look of realization dawned on her friend’s face. “No… He didn’t… Did he?!”  
“Georgie, he asked me out!”  
“Holy— Come here, we’re going to the locker room!”

As Shirley and her flatmate dashed to the sanctum of gossip, the love-struck young woman couldn’t help but let out a tiny squeal.

It had finally happened! Her wish had finally been granted!

“Oh Georgie, you have to help me find the perfect dress!”  
“Of course! After all, who am I? You know what, Shirley? This is a special night, and you’re going to need all of the time you can get to look perfect for your date! I’ll see if Agatha and Kallen are willing to trade shifts with us. I’ll be right back. Oh my God, Shirley, I can’t believe it!”

She wanted to dance, or jump up and down. So she settled for tightly hugging herself, quietly screaming out of euphoria.

It was finally happening!

Her date with Mr. Lamperouge!

. . .

“Shirley, there’s something you need to now about…myself.”  
“Yes?”

She nervously fingered the hem of her white dress. She hoped she looked alright. The dress wasn’t of the newest fashion, but what did it matter? Right? Oh, who was she kidding? She was a waitress for heaven’s sake, and even if it was at a high-class, VIP tearoom, her salary couldn’t pay for living in the city and the latest fashion. Not that anyone would notice anyways. It was four seasons ago; she’d be fine. Or that was what Georgie had told her anyhow. She prayed that her friend was right; the last thing she wanted was for Mr. Lamperouge to regret asking her to accompany him to this event.

“Shirley, do you know what it is that I do for a living?”  
“Um… Your business card says that you’re a CEO.”  
“Of what company?”  
“Of Britannia Enterprises?”  
“Have you ever heard of Britannia Enterprises?”

At his loaded question, she could just barely feel vague memories drifting about in her head. Now that he mentioned it, the name did seem familiar though the nature of such an education was something she was unable to recall. Where had she heard of it before? It was right there, on the tip of her tongue; she could swear she had heard of it before, there was such a familiar ring to the name that she—

“Isn’t there a rumor that there’s something that Britannia Enterprises is doing that made a lot of people unhappy? Something about… Something about radicals?”  
“Shirley, Britannia Enterprises are the radicals. They’re a front for the Weiss Ritter. It’s something that everyone knows but never discusses. That that company is the mask for a syndicate of criminals.”

Her smile slid off of her face. Oh, he couldn’t… He… It was a joke. This was a joke, a prank on his part, wasn’t it? He couldn’t actually… He… But he was such a gentleman, he was so kind and cordial, he wasn’t anything like so murderous convicts, those gangsters with their tattoos and guns and drugs, it— He couldn’t be serious.

“… Who are you in the Weiss Ritter? Are you… Are you an important person?” she whispered. The traffic light turned green, and they crossed the intersection before he answered her question.

“I’m the CEO. What do you think that translates into?”

She wanted to faint. It couldn’t be possible, Mr. Lamperouge was such a gentleman, he was like a prince out of a fairy tale, he couldn’t… But apparently, her fairy tale prince killed and intimidated people for a living. Apparently, her fairy tale prince was a murderer.

“Does it frighten you? That I’m a criminal.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she chose to remain silent.

“Would you believe me if I promised you that I would never hurt you? Or allow anyone else to hurt you?”  
“… Mr. Lamperouge, I—”  
“Please. Call me Lelouch.”  
“… Lelouch, I…” She evaded his eyes, unsure of what to do and what to say.  
“If you feel that you’re uncomfortable n my presence, then you may leave. You haven obligation to stay with me. I don’t want you to feel threatened, or that you have to be with me in order to live.”

Shirley chewed on her lip. Oh… Oh, oh, oh, what to do, what to do, what was she going to do? Everything told her to put as much distance between the raven-haired man and herself, but… But there was just something so irresistible about him, and she was in love with him too, and didn’t being in love with someone mean accepting them for who they were just as they were and loving them all the same? Didn’t it?

“… My father told me once not to judge people by what they do for a living, but by who they are. I’m…” She hesitated. Was she really okay with this? He was a criminal; he had murdered people, he had taken others’ lives with his hand… But then she remembered his forgiving smile when she botched up his orders, or the hand he offered her whenever she tripped, and it just…

“I’m willing to give you a chance to prove how right my father was.”  
“Thank you for being so open-minded.”

She nodded solemnly. This was it. She had decided to give him a chance, and she couldn’t go back on what she had promised. She only prayed that she hadn’t made the wrong decision by blindly trusting in him. But he had promised that he would protect her, and from what she had seen, Lelouch Lamperouge seemed like a man of his word.

Just wait till Georgie heard about this. How surprised she would be, hearing how their good-natured and considerate fairytale prince was actually a dark warlock.

How surprised she would be…

Shirley knew she was.

. . .

She had been a woman of emotion once. Once, she had laughed and cried and felt anger and love and a myriad of other human emotions. But that had been long ago, when she had loved him. When they had been together, when they had been naïve and had sat underneath the stars together, whispering grand plans to one another – plans where they would be together for an eternity. Plans where they would be together happily. But a long, long time had passed since then – or so it seemed – and many things had changed.

Too much had changed since then.

Of course, she had cried that day when she had come home, her hand burning with his kiss. Though she had little emotion left in her battered soul, the experience of reuniting with her past self was so sudden and so jarring, her heart had shattered once more, and the miniscule fragments were ground into a silvery dust. Not that she loved him because she didn’t. She might have once, in the past, but that’s what it was – the past. It was behind her, as well as beneath her, and now – right now – Cecaniah Corabelle loved neither her husband nor that man. It would be in her best interest if she were to forget what once was and focus on what presently was. It was the only way she could continue bearing with her existence – by avoiding the truth like the coward she was.

As the maids bustled around her, helping their mistress prepare for her outing, C.C. studied her reflection. She looked like she always did; calm, collected, poised. How deceitful she was, with her mask and excuses. She was nothing but lies - a woman woven from falsehoods and deception.

The corners of her lips turned up, and yet, her eyes remained the same dull shade they were – a dirty copper dimly gleamed from the reflection as she studied her deceitful reflection. Tearing her eyes from the hateful picture, she absentmindedly glanced down at the angry crescents imprinted on her palm before folding her hands. Covering the sinister wink of her ring, she tightly wrung her hands and vowed to herself that though she presently felt this tempest of confusion and fear and love and denial, the moment she left the boundaries of her sanctuary – of her haven and home – she would return to the persona of an unfeeling, heartless witch. It was the only way. For both her sake and his, she would adopt that monstrous burden and mask if it only meant that things would return to the way they once were, no matter how broken they were. 

. . .

What was this?

A young woman with wide eyes an innocent hue of green and ginger hair cut to her shoulders sat across from C.C. She was dressed in a white dress that, though it was from four seasons ago, exuded an unnatural purity unfit for the table and those gathered around it. In fact, everything about this woman simply radiated naiveté. It was astounding; how could an individual give off such an ingenuous aura? And where had Lelouch dug her up from?

“Shirley, this is Schneizel el Britannia, the capofamiglia of the Weiss Ritter, and his beautiful wife, Mrs.—”  
“Cecaniah Corabelle,” she cut in. A hint of disdain made her voice flinty, but she didn’t care. The thought of her taking her husband’s surname nauseated her; she had already given him so much of herself. What more would she have to sacrifice in order to satisfy those around her? Traditions be damned, she’d rather burn in hell for eternity than give any more of herself to him. Not to say that she wasn’t in some pseudo-hell already.

“What a gracious gift you bestow upon me, Lelouch. I never, in my wildest dreams, would have thought that I would be dining with two of Pendragon’s most stunning women. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fenette.”

She watched out of the corner of her eye as her husband flashed the young woman a blinding smile and brought her hand to his lips. The girl – she seemed more like a girl than a woman – was obviously dazed by the ambush of glitz, glam, and charm. No doubt she was acutely sensitive to the riches and wonders of this world she had been allowed a peek into; what opportunity would she have had, with her unremarkable, unexceptional life, to experience such a life as the ones they led?

As she took her husband’s arm, C.C. ignored the low voices behind her, and the eyes burning into her back. Head held high, she swept past the young man and the girl draped on his arm. The hem of her gown barely brushing the tip of the floor, she ignored the two. She didn’t know why he had brought her – she didn’t put him above infantile tactics, but there was no evidence to be had to prove such a theory – but whatever the reason was, whether he actually loved or had brought her along to tease her, it didn’t matter to her. She had, after all, a ring on her finger to wordlessly declare to the world of her loyalty, did she not?

. . .

Shirley felt incredibly uncomfortable. She felt so underdressed, especially compared to the bewitching and stylish woman seated across from her. Nor was she accustomed to such fine dining. More used to serving, rather than being served, she felt rather restless as the waiters came and went with silver platters of ambrosia. Not to mention how everyone was acting as if they had grown up on a diet of foie-gras and hummingbird eggs since birth. They probably had grown up eating foie-gras and hummingbird eggs, but it was just… There was such a wide berth between her and everyone else. Not to say that that was what was making her so nervous, because that wasn’t it. What was making her so nervous was the palpable tension between Lelouch and Mrs. Corabelle. Shirley didn’t know why, but there was so much electricity crackling between the two, despite them not having looked at each other even once… She desperately felt out of place. She… She needed a break. Reprieve. And what more, she needed it now.

“U-um, I’ll be right back, Lelouch, I just… I just have to go to the bathroom. It’ll be really quick. Excuse me!”

The moment the young woman fled from her seat and towards her oasis, all motion ceased at the table. There was no chewing, no forks being lifted to mouths, no knives slicing the tender meat. Schneizel was gone, having excused himself to take a supposedly important phone call five minutes prior to Shirley’s escape, leaving the witch and the warlock alone. As they say by themselves, there was no movement whatsoever as the pair hung, suspended in time, completely frozen with shock at being completely alone. That is, there was no movement until she spoke.

“She seems like a nice girl.”

He set down his silverware before slowly leaning back into his chair. Her eyes flickered up meet his for the first time that evening as she coldly smiled. He narrowed his eyes, searching for some telltale sign of…of what? What was it that he wanted? What was it that he had wanted by bringing Shirley here tonight? What had been the purpose and motivation?

“…I’m lucky to have her.”  
“I’m sure you are.”

. . .

Shirley felt incredibly uncomfortable. She felt so underdressed, especially compared to the bewitching and stylish woman seated across from her, and she wasn’t used to such fine dining. She was more to serving it than eating it. Not to mention how everyone was acting as if they had grown up eating foie gras and hummingbird eggs since their birth. They probably had grown up eating foie gras and hummingbird eggs, but it was just… There was such a wide berth between her and everyone else, but that wasn’t what was making her so nervous.

It was the palpable tension between Lelouch and Mrs. Corabelle. Shirley didn’t know why, but there was so much electricity crackling between the two, despite them not having looked at each other even once… She felt desperately out of place. She… She needed a break, she needed reprieve. And what more, she needed it now.

“U-um, I’ll be right back, Lelouch, I just… I just have to go to the bathroom, it’ll be really quick, excuse me.”

The second the young woman fled from her seat and towards her oasis, all motion ceased at the table. There was no chewing, no forks being lifted to mouths, no knives slicing the tender meat. Schneizel was gone, having excused himself to take an important phone call five minutes prior to Shirley’s escape, leaving the witch and the warlock alone. As they sat by themselves, there was no movement whatsoever, as the pair hung suspended in time, completely frozen with shock at being completely alone. That is, there was no movement, until she spoke.

“What are you trying to get at?”  
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you’re asking, Mrs. Corabelle.” He set down his silverware before slowly leaning back into his chair. Her golden irises flickered up to meet his for the first time that evening as she said in a low voice, “That woman. Who is she?”  
“Why? Are you jealous?”  
“Jealous? Who do you think you’re speaking to right now?” She smiled coldly, incredulous with his jabs. How dare he make such an accusation?  
“An envious witch who’s too proud to admit her true feelings. That’s who I think I’m speaking to. Or am I wrong?”

She stared at him, furious. How dare he— He knew nothing. He knew nothing; what she did to get here, how she got here, what she sacrificed to keep him safe, to keep him alive… He knew absolutely nothing. But of course he knew nothing, he was the blind little boy, and she was the all-knowing goddess. She must be patient with him. For all of their sakes, she reminded herself.

For all of their sakes.

“I was just curious,” she hissed, “Mr. Lamperouge, if there was any reason you brought Miss Fenette with you. You didn’t bring her for our last dinner, and I don’t believe my husband has told me anything about you being in a relationship.”  
“Your husband hasn’t told you about my being in a relationship?”  
“Oh, he speaks of you,” she replied amiably, plastering an adoring smile on her lips at the mention of her spouse. “Often, I might add.”

Schneizel talked about him? With C.C.? What would he have to share with his wife about him?

“He likes you, my husband… Though, for the life of me, I can’t understand why.”  
“And why is that?”  
“You see… He doesn’t know you as well as I do.” Her eyes flickered up to him, goading him to take the bait. He knew that it was a trap, but he was seeing red right now, and it just— Fuck reason.

“What makes you say that you know me better than he does?” he asked. “Have you been with me at all during the last week? No, you haven’t. But your husband, I’ve accompanied him on various trips to accomplish various tasks, and I believe it would be in the right to say that your husband, whom you can’t understand, knows me better than you do. Than you ever will.”

The insufferable man, the mere insolence. C.C. glared at him, the uncouth bastard as he spoke in a low, angry voice.

“So I suggest that you—”  
“What’s wrong?”

Man and woman turned to Shirley, who had returned, having stayed in the powder room for as long as etiquette would allow her. She stared at the way Mrs. Corabelle was gripping the neck of her wine glass, with her polished and manicured nails digging into her palm, her knuckles whitened a bony pallor, and then the dangerous glint in Lelouch’s eyes, the look of an irate man who was nearly ready to upturn a table at the next wrong look sent his way. What exactly had happened when she had left?

“Is… Is everything alright?” she cautiously asked.  
“Everything is fine,” her date replied in an uncharacteristically tight voice. But she didn’t believe him; it was clear to anyone that everything was not fine, that everything was the opposite of fine. She wasn’t stupid; she could tell when two people had been in the midst of an argument. But an argument about what? What could possibly make these two level-headed, high-born people lose their tempers?  
“I… This doesn’t have anything to do with—”  
“Lelouch.”  
“Yes?”

The raven-haired man looked up at his superior, who had returned from his phone call.

“It seems we’re wanted at the Square. A few of our associates wish to conference with us on an urgent matter.”  
“I understand.” The raven-haired man rose from his seat as Schneizel directed his attention to his wife.

“Cecaniah love, I apologize. I really hate to cut these dinner parties short, but… Business is business, and it comes first. You understand, don’t you, my love?”  
“Of course I do,” she intoned. “Of course.”

He smiled and kissed her on the forehead before saying, “Kanon will take you home. Miss Fenette, Mr. Maldini will also escort you home.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly—”  
“Please. It would be foolish and rude of me to allow such a beautiful young woman to wander the city streets after nightfall.”  
“I… I don’t want to cause any trouble… And—”  
“On the contrary, Miss Fenette,” interrupted C.C., “I’d like to get to know you better. I think we’ll make good friends in the future, and I’d hate to lose a kind person such as yourself to the city.”  
“O-oh… Okay then, if you insist, then I suppose… I suppose it would be alright.”  
“Excellent. Now, Lelouch. We must hurry, my friend, lest we make our partners impatient.”

With a smile and a promise to call later to Shirley, Lelouch followed Schneizel out of the restaurant. He felt uneasy leaving her along with C.C. He didn’t know why the witch wanted to be alone with his date, but he didn’t put it past her to try and find out the real reason he had brought her along to dinner. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. It wasn’t as if he was going to be running into the witch often, so what did it matter?

. . .

“There’s something I would like to discuss with you, Lelouch, before we meet our associates.”

He turned away from the window he had been gazing out of to look to Schneizel. The blonde man seemed to be carefully choosing how to announce what was to come.

“As you know, the Hóng Hè have been a nuisance to us for some time now. They’ve been having what they insist are demonstrations of their power and strength. I have been tolerant with them; the Chinese mafia are not adversaries who are easily taken down, even by the Weiss Ritter, and should be dealt with in the most tactful manner possible. Therefore, it is unfortunate that,” Schneizel frowned. “my patience for their demonstrations have begun to wane as of late.”

“What will we do?”  
“Nothing yet. We don’t want any more casualties. However.”

There was the word. However. There was always a however, and Lelouch had been listening for it. Now here it was, out in the open. He braced himself.

“However, in the event that war should be declared between the Hóng Hè and the Weiss Ritter, Lelouch, there is an extremely key role that you, and you alone, must fulfill.”

He took a quiet sip of his wine, and the raven-haired man patiently waited.

“I need you to serve as guardian.”  
“For who?”  
“For my wife.”

He immediately stiffened.

“The Hóng Hè have been foolish; with their demonstrations, they show the enemy their power, yes, but also their attack styles. Patterns have arisen, Lelouch, and it is evident that if we go to war with the Hóng Hè, the first person who will be targeted—”  
“—is your wife.”  
“I cannot have my wife endangered because of men who know no restraint. I refuse to allow her to be put in such a position. Thus, I need you to guard her.”  
“… What would my role entail?” God fucking damn it, he— How much more did Fate want from him? Hadn’t they had enough? He had screamed and cried and fallen to the depths of Tartarus, and still, it wasn’t enough for them. Why? What else did he have to give them? His life?

“Be with her at all times. Accompany her wherever she goes, be it a boutique in the Upper West Side, or the streets of Tokyo. Be with her, and protect her from the Hóng Hè. Keep harm from befalling her. Guard her.”

He stared out of the car’s window and at the blurred scenery whipping by. He wanted to laugh. He nearly did, when he saw how serious Schneizel was. Protect C.C.? What was this, some television sit-com? Because things like this never happened in real life, coincidences didn’t pile up like this, and this amount of drama almost never swamped someone. Not like this. Never like this.

“If you must, Lelouch, see this as a… A license for freedom. A license that ensures that you live. You won’t have to be on the battlefield, on the front lines. There’ll be next to no life-threatening situations, except, perhaps, for the occasional shopping excursion.”

He smiled tightly. “Is Mrs. Corabelle aware of my new responsibilities?”

“Not yet. But she will come to know in due time. Let us hope, in the mean time, that there will be no need for her to find out.”  
“Of course.”  
“Thank you, Lelouch. I say this, not as the head of the Weiss Ritter, of your brotherhood, but as a man. As a husband.”  
“How can I say no to the man whom I owe my life to?”

Schneizel smiled. “Ah, here we are.” The door opened, and the two men stepped out into the deserted plaza.

“Schneizel el Britannia. I thought you wouldn’t show your face. I was just about to send for you, but there you were, coming down the street, on your white stallion. How are you, my friend?”  
“Well, thank you. Zero, this is Lelouch Lamperouge, the gifted young man I spoke to you about. Lelouch, this is Zero, the leader of the Black Knights who are, not only associates of the Weiss Ritter, but trusted friends.”

As the two shook hands, Lelouch couldn’t help but smile wryly at his superior’s silvery words. Friends? What friends? There were no such things as friends when it came to the mafia. Betrayal was inevitable; it was merely a matter of time until the Black Knights would turn their backs on the Weiss Ritter as they desperately scuffled for more power. Just as the Hóng Hè had done.

That was simply the way the crime world worked. Men were treacherous, and the women… The women were lethal.

Schneizel had told him that he would be safer than most of the members of their brotherhood, but Lelouch only laughed at him. Safe? Him, alone, with Cecaniah Corabelle, the woman who had crushed his heart and nearly robbed him of his sanity, safe?

Pray, he counseled, pray that the heavens have laughed their fill and that they spare you, for if they have not… If they’ve not, and war is declared, you shall most certainly end up in a pool of your own blood.


	3. Chapter 3

"Eh? What's this? Jesus fuck, how many fuckin' junkies are there around here? Oi. Oi! Get up. Get up from the ground, you son of a bitch, you're blocking the way, the Boss can't go inside with you here. Oi!"

If there was one place you could travel to in the entire world… Where would it be?"

"There's a fountain in Rome," she whispered, "And the local people there say that if you go to the fountain just as the sky clears after a storm, and look into the water, you'll see the face of your soul mate…"

"Hey, he's not going to listen. He's too stoned, it's no use."

"Fuck these druggies. What the fuck do they think, that everyone can wait on them? Listen up, you bastard. Our Boss is on his way, and when he hears that you're in his way, he's going to fuck you up so much more than those drugs are, you hear me?"

"Whose reflection do you think you would see?"

"Whose reflection do you think I'd see?" She giggled, and he smiled before leaning in for a kiss.

"Fuck, man, we don't have a lot of time. We got to clear the way for the Boss."

"Motherfuckin' Christ, I don't know why I even bothered being nice." The tattooed criminal pulled out a gun and pointed it towards the intoxicated man lying desolately on the cold, wet ground. "Oi. I'm a pretty good-natured guy. So I'll give you one last chance. If you don't get up in the next three seconds, I might just blow your fuckin' brains out unless you get up and fuck off. You hear me? Huh, you pathetic bastard?"

"What is it?"

"… Lelouch."

"One, two, thre—"

"Why don't you put the gun down?"

The two gangsters looked up to see a well-dressed man standing in front of them. Glaring suspiciously at him, the one with the firearm narrowed his eyes before spitting, "Who the fuck are you to tell us what to do?"

Unfazed, the mysterious gentleman calmly spoke. "This individual is one of my own. I suggest you leave him be, lest you wish for misfortune to befall you."

"Now you look here, you son of a bitch. The ones with the guns, the bullets, huh, are right here. We're the ones holding the trigger, not you, so what I suggest is that you, and your fancy little suit, run off before we decide to waste two bullets today, instead of o—"

The inhabitants of the buildings flanking the alleyway screamed and panicked as a series of rapid gunshots sounded throughout the streets. Completely unperturbed by the giant puddle of blood pooling on the concrete, Schneizel el Britannia bent down to the mess of man and drugs who was lying at his feet.

"Lelouch Lamperouge. I've been watching you for some time, and I've taken an interest in you. It's time you're pulled from the dark side of the moon and come join us at the light, for what awaits you, young man, is everything you could ever wish for."

"Lelouch, do you love me?"

"I love you, Ceci. I will until the day time stops," he whispered. "Forever and always."

She smiled.

"Lelouch?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?" Shirley looked at him anxiously; he had been staring off into the distance, completely blind and deaf to his surroundings. She would have let this go, but he had been doing it more and more often lately, and it was starting to gnaw on her nerves. What was wrong?

"… I'm fine." He gave her a half-hearted smile before turning his attention back to navigating their way through the heavy morning traffic. And though she didn't believe him, she let it slide. Just this once. He looked tired and weary, and her nagging him wouldn't help him.

"Well… Thank you. For taking me to work."

"It's what a good boyfriend should do, isn't it?"

Her smile faltered at his reply. It was always, "It's what a good boyfriend should do." Always. Never had he ever said anything the likes of "It's because I want to" or "I get to spend more time with you, so it's okay." Not even once. It was always just "It's what a good boyfriend should do." As if he was only going through the motions of a relationship, as if this was just a test that he had to pass. As if he didn't really mean it. Did he even love her? Rather, did he even like her? And… And would he even care if she were to walk out of his life? At all? Did he care about her at all?

"… Le—"

"Are you free after work today, Shirley?"

"Um…"

"I was thinking that we could go to the restaurant in Little Italy that you wanted to go to so much." He glanced at her, as if gauging for her reaction. As if he were checking to see if he had said the right thing. Shirley struggled to smile.

"Oh, um… Sure, why not?"

She couldn't nitpick with him. It was impossible to, he was the perfect boyfriend; he held the door open for her, he was punctual, cordial, kind, knew the right compliments to tell her at the right time, paid attention to everything she said, remembered even the most minute details, and yet…

There was something missing, it was… It wasn't authentic, it didn't feel like a real relationship, she didn't… There was no love. There was no warmth, no feeling, it… It was all empty. Void. Meaningless. Like they were simply actors, and they were only reciting lines from a script.

"… Lelouch, I… I want to…" She drew in every ounce of courage she could. "I want to talk to you about something important."

"I'm listening."

She froze. Could she… Could she really ask him this? Would he get angry if she did, if she asked him… If she asked him the question, if she asked him if he really loved her? Wouldn't he get annoyed? Was she even ready to ask something like this, was she mentally and emotionally prepared for whatever answer he would give her? It… Oh, it was just so— She— Time.

That was it.

That's what she needed, a little time, a little time and space, to think before saying anything rash. Hadn't he always told her to be careful, to be cautious before making any final decisions? Yes, what she needed was a little time. She would go to work, take her mind off of the matter, maybe discuss it with Georgie, and if, by the time thy were sitting at the dinner table, she still felt the need to know, still felt doubtful, that was when she would ask. Not now. Then.

"I'll ask you later, when we have more time," she replied. He only nodded absentmindedly.

"I'll pick you up when you get off of work."

"Okay. I'll see you tonight then."

She gave him a swift peck on the cheek before hopping out of the sleek sports car. Standing on the curb, she waved him goodbye until he was swallowed by the thick flow of morning commute traffic.

The second the tail lights vanished, Shirley let her hand and smile crash to the ground.

She was the envy of her colleagues and coworkers. The day she had walked into work, floating with euphoria as she delivered the news of how Mr. Lamperouge, her darling fairytale prince, had asked her to be his girlfriend on their third date following the dinner he had first asked her out to a month ago, that day had been the beginning of a new era, an era in which she, Shirley Fenette, would be the most blissful woman on earth.

It seemed like that day had been so far away, had happened an entire lifetime ago, when it had only been a month in reality…

If she knew what her relationship with him would end up like, would she have been so happy that day?

It was so depressing. The realization that her dream wasn't as perfect as she had thought it would be tore at her; she wanted to cry. There it was, her deepest desire having been granted, and yet, at the same time, it not having been granted. How cruel reality was.

"Shirley? What are you doing standing there? You're going to be late!"

"I-I'm coming, Georgie. Wait up!"

"Hurry up, sleepyhead. I told you that you have to be careful with guys. They'll say and do anything to get into your pants. I bet you even Mr. Lamperouge—"

"We didn't do anything like that, Georgie." The ginger blushed. The very thought of, of doing something like that with him, it just— Oh, he hadn't even kissed her yet. How could Georgie even think to say something like that?

Her friend snorted. "Oh, sure, and I'm a Saint, right? Geez, I slept over at Kallen's last night just for the purpose of leaving you two alone. Are you sure? You're not lying to me, are you? Cause I will find out, I—"

"I'm telling the truth!" she passionately insisted. "Lelouch, he… He said that he… That…"

"That he what, Shirley? What did your perfect boyfriend say this time?"

Cheeks painted a bright rouge, she avoided making any eye contact with her inquisitive companion before mumbling, "He said that… That he was saving, that he was saving it for when he got married, which I personally think is very sweet and romantic of him."

She stopped walking. Confused by her reaction, Shirley turned around. "What's wrong?"

"Are you telling me," her flatmate said slowly, "that he's still a virgin? That Lelouch Lamperouge, the single sexiest, most attractive guy out there since whenever, is a virgin."

"Well, he—"

"You're lying. You're lying, it can't— No, wait, he's lying. How is he a virgin? If he's a virgin, how are the rest of us supposed to get laid? I mean, seriously, Shirley, you can't actually believe that, that's the stupidest thing I've ever—"

"No, Georgie, not so loudly," she begged. "I don't want the others to find ou—"

Tearing her mouth free from the embarrassed woman, the mischievous confidante shouted across the plaza. "Hey, Kallen, guess what Shirley just told me!"

The bleary-eyed redhead turned around, stifling a yawn, before asking, "What?"

"Well, apparently—"

"No, Georgie, don't!"

As she chased after her giggling workmate, Shirley allowed the dark storm could that had been hanging over her for some time to quietly float away. It hadn't dissipated yet. Not yet. But for the time being, for now, she would remain quiet and simply think. Thus, she ran after her friend, from the dark thoughts that had been plaguing her, and to carefree ignorance.

. . .

Gravel crunched underneath the tires of the gleaming car as its purring engine was silenced. The vehicle was immobile, lifeless, and yet, the driver never stepped out. He remained in his seat, gazing out over the placid lake in morose stillness.

Lelouch felt numb with grief. How long had it it been since the last time he had been here? This lake that he'd work so hard to avoid, to ignore? And how much time had passed since the first kiss they had shyly shared on its banks? Since he had proposed to her here?

He sat, completely motionless, save for the lazy smoke curling towards the sky from the end of his cigarette.

That was it, they whispered. Inhale, exhale. In, out, in, out, in, and out. Don't think about anything else. Just. Breathe.

"It's about time we left Pendragon. I've been wanting to get out of here since I was born, and now I'm finally free."

"Your mother will miss you terribly." C.C. only shrugged nonchalantly as she looked out over the lake.

"She will. But I'll come visit every chance I get. And it's not as if we're living in the Dark Ages. She'll live," she joked.

"That's not going to stop her from crying when you go to the hospital tomorrow to say goodbye to her."

She scoffed. "She'll probably be crying because you're leaving her, not me. She absolutely adores you, though I have no clue as to why she loves you so much."

"It makes up for your father, so I don't see why you should complain."

She grinned. "Now, my father is an entirely different story. It's a theory of mine that I'm more like Papa than Maman, what with our personalities and appearances and whatnot."

"Except your father hates me, whereas you like me."

"He's suspicious of you, you know. He wonders why a teenage boy would even bother spending his time with a girl, unless it's to try and get into her pan—"

"C2."

"You must have tried, or at least wanted to, at one point or other. For God's sake, Lelouch, you're a boy too, which means you're also susceptible to hormones. Even you can't deny that fact of li—"

"I went to see your father the other day."

She frowned. "Papa? When? And why did I not know about this until now?"

"I wanted to speak to him privately."

"… Why?"

The raven-haired man only watched the setting sun, rather than answer her query. Annoyed, she demanded, "Why, Lelouch? Why did you go to Papa alone?"

"C2, we met in ninth grade, didn't we?"

She looked at him strangely but replied all the same.

"When you were told to sit next to me."

"And we've been friends ever since?"

"Yes…"

"When I went to your father the other day, he and I, we spoke for a long time, but he eventually agreed."

"Agreed to what?"

A strange feeling began to settle over her. When he finally turned towards her, surprise smacked right into her. When had he… When had he grown to be so tall? Hadn't they been the same height? What… And his face. It was completely different, there was no trace of the awkward, lanky boy he had once been, he was… He was a man now. A full grown man. But when? When had he… And why hadn't she noticed until now? No, no, no, that wasn't right. She hadn't noticed just now, she had always known. Somewhere, deep within her, she had always know. She had only shut it up, ignored it, so that she could pretend that her feelings for him weren't changing. But they had caught up with her now, and she was caught, bound by his soft violet gaze.

"C2, do you remember that game we used to play during the summers when we were bored?"

"Hypothetically Speaking?" What was wrong with him? It wasn't like him to be so random, to just subjects like this. If anything, she was always the one who changed subjects as she pleased while he was the one who always insisted on finishing conversations to the very end.

"Would you like to play, as a commemoration of our high school graduation?"

"Lelouch, I thought—"

"Play," he said firmly. "Play, just this once. It can be the last time. It probably will be the last time. But just play this once, C2."

"… I assume you're going first?"

"Hypothetically speaking, if the reason why I rejected each and every one of those girls who came to confess during those four years was you, what would you do?"

What?

"Hypothetically speaking, if I were to tell you that I've been in love with you since that day we shared an umbrella freshman year, what would you say?"

He stepped forward.

"Hypothetically speaking, Cecaniah… Hypothetically speaking, Ceci, would you push me away if I kissed you right now?"

Compose yourself, she ordered. Compose yourself, C2, and answer the damn boy.

"… Why don't you find out?"

He smiled, and her lips followed, before her first kiss was claimed by him on the banks of the lake on the Friday evening before they would leave for Juilliard. The sun was setting as he drew her in closer, as she wove her fingers through the soft raven hair she had often braided just to annoy him, as he broke away from the lips that had teased him before leaning down once more, and oh God, he had waited so long for this one moment, he had endured three and a half years of sitting on the sidelines, simply watching as C.C. had dated the stupidest boys who never understood her as much as he did, he had gone toe-to-toe with her father, who he had to admit was slightly intimidating in the way that he was so skeptical of him and protective of his only daughter. But it was worth it. It was completely and utterly worth it, he decided. In fact, he would go through all of those trials, and a thousand more, as long as it meant that he would be able to stand here, on the shores of the lake, looking down at the most beautiful girl in the world whom he could finally call his, and his alone.

"I love you, Ceci."

She buried her smile into his chest. "You are mine, and mine only, from this point on. Never forget that, Lelouch."

"I promise I won't," he murmured. And they both smiled, unreservedly drowning in euphoria.

They had been barefoot at the time, he recalled. Barefoot, and in love. So deeply in love, it was just… It made him wonder; if he had loved her less, if his feelings for her hadn't been so intense, would he have been able to let her go? Would he be suffering as he was suffering now? Or was it inevitable, a part of Fate's design, to be subjected to such torment?

He opened his tightly clenched fist and stared blankly at the small silver ring winking up at him from his palm. It was a simple piece of jewelry; he had had very little money to his name at the time after all. A single silver band with a singular pearl embedded within the thin ring. That was it. It was nowhere near anything like the wedding ring gracing her finger now. But this ring, it was more than just a ring, it was more than just a pearl and a silver band. It was the embodiment of his love, his promise to protect and love her for the rest of his life; with it, he had meant to show her how much he loved her, how much he cherished her. And she had accepted him, trusted in him, had agreed to share their lives together for the rest of eternity.

Or so he had once thought.

He didn't know why, or how he had held on to this fragment from his past life for all of these years.

How long had it been since she had left him?

Four years.

How long since the beginning of their eight-year relationship?

Twelve.

And how long since they had first met, since he had fallen in love with her?

Sixteen and fifteen years respectively.

Where had all of the time gone?

More importantly, where had all his sanity fled to?

He had come here to the lake for the singular purpose of throwing the ring away, to desert one of his last memories of that naïve, miraculous time. But now that he was here… Now that he was here, with the memory in his hand and the loch before him, the very loch where they had shared their first kiss, where he had knelt down in front of her to ask her to be his wife, he just…

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't do it, it would be like throwing a part of himself away, for throwing the ring away would mean throwing away his heart, for he still loved her.

He still loved her, she who was untouchable.

Putting the cigarette out, he started the car. The spinning tires spit out gravel as he backed out and drove away, ran away like the coward he secretly was. He didn't know why he had thought he could do it, there had been a reason why he had held onto the ring. Admittedly, he wasn't quite sure of it, but he knew that there was a reason why, and that that reason still held. He couldn't throw it away, no matter how much he wished he could.

But as he drove away, the raven-haired man vowed to himself.

He may not throw it away today, or tomorrow, but one day…

One day, he would.

He swore on it.

. . .

Shirley distractedly polished the cup. It had begun to gleam five minutes ago, but her thoughts were elsewhere, and thus, the teacup bravely endured the shining as best as it could.

What Shirley was so fixated on was a mystery. It wasn't about her boyfriend, fortunately, but it was close. Very, very close.

About a month ago, she had been invited to have dinner with Lelouch, and there, she had made several discoveries. For instance, she had found out that cordial, gentlemanly, warm-hearted Mr. Lamperouge was actually a kingpin in the most feared criminal syndicate of the century. She had also had her hand kissed by the leader of the very same organization, the König of the Weiss Ritter, Schneizel el Britannia, and had been acquainted with his beautiful, young wife. That night was also the very same evening in which she began to suspect that not everything was as it seemed, that there was something more between Lelouch Lamperouge and Cecaniah Corabelle. She didn't know what, or when, but there was something definitely there, and it was making her slightly uneasy. If she had to eventually compete against her, with a lady of that much grace and affluence, would she win? Could she win? She was so beautiful, and though she had seemed a little more than distance from everyone, and hadn't even smiled once during their meeting, Shirley could tell that Mrs. Corabelle's smile would be one of radiance and—

"Shirley, there's someone here to see you."

"Huh?" She looked up, startled. Who would be here to visit her? It couldn't be Lelouch; he had his own job to do… To do whatever it was that Mafiosos did during the day. So who could it be? Kallen, never one big on slow reactions, impatiently rapped the counter to call for her attention.

"You might want to hurry up and get out there to meet her. I don't think we should keep her waiting."

"Who—"

"Hurry, hurry!"

She was ushered out of the kitchen, the cup and cloth plucked from her hands, before she was sent on her way. As she walked down the hallway to one of the private salons, the ginger woman couldn't help but frown. Who could it be? It was obviously a woman, but most of her girl friends worked with her, or were working right now. And even if they had been able to visit, they would never be admitted into the tearoom, since they only accepted people of the highest class, the top 1% of Pendragon's socialites, it…

"Miss Fenette."

"Mrs. Corabelle?"

"Please, take a seat."

Though she was bewildered, Shirley obediently sat down in the comfortable loveseat across from her visitor, who had, once again, managed to succeed in making her feel inferior. She was dressed in a chic black dress, one that complemented her long, creamy legs, along with a white blazer that had undoubtedly had a price tag in the thousands. A necklace, elegantly studded with diamonds, winked at her as the sophisticated madame lowered a cup of fragrant tea from her rosebud lips.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here."

"N-no, not at all, I would expect a lady of your status to come here like this, I was just… I was just a little surprised…"

"A lady of my status," she murmured. C.C. couldn't resist smirking at the irony. How funny. A lady of her status? She truly did know nothing. So Lelouch hadn't told her anything. Yet.

"How are things with Mr. Lamperouge?" she questioned politely. The waitress's eyes snapped up from the skirt of her uniform to stare at her in surprise. "L-Lelouch?"

"Has he been treating you well?"

"Um, yes, he has, but, um… Mrs. Corabelle?"

"Yes?"

C.C. observed how she squirmed in her seat, wondering how in the world Lelouch managed to put up with that, since one of the things he absolutely detested was restless fidgeting. In fact, how did he even put up with this woman in the first place? She wasn't even his ideal type, and the raven-haired man was often a perfectionist. With his personality, he wouldn't have it in him to tolerate her, so how… Unless he loved her. Unless he really actually did love her. Her expression hardened at the thought. So he loved her, did he?

"… Mrs. Corabelle, what… What exactly, um, what exactly is your relationship with Lelouch?"

"My relationship with Lelouch?"

Her eyes dropped down to her hand, where her wedding ring silently glimmered with its glorious 24 karat diamond.

"… We used to be classmates in high school."

Shirley tilted her head to the side, curious. That couldn't be all. There was more to it, there had to be more to the story than she was letting on. She just knew it; Mrs. Corabelle's expression had looked so distant, so far off, as if she were reliving some memory of a happier place and time. Even if it was just for a split second, the expression was unmistakable, and it intrigued her even further. What exactly had happened between the two?

"Um, Mrs. Corabelle, I—"

"It seems that it's time for me to go."

Huh?

The emerald-haired woman rose from her seat before giving her a smile that didn't quite her eyes and a polite, "Good afternoon, Miss Fenette" and walking away. Stunned, Shirley blinked at the sofa where Mrs. Corabelle had been sitting just seconds earlier, before rushing to the window of the room. She didn't notice Georgie slipping inside until her friend asked, "What'd she want?"

They watched as the gentlewoman exited the building. A tall man bowed curtly before opening the door of a luxurious sedan for her. Shirley couldn't stop her wistful sigh.

"What do you think it'd be like, Georgie, to live like Mrs. Corabelle?"

"I don't know… Don't you think it'd be kind of boring? I mean, she can't do whatever she wants cause she has to conform to what society wants and expects her to be like."

"What are you talking about?" The car pulled away, and the young woman dragged herself away from the view to help her best friend clean up.

"You have to realize, Shirley, that having too much money can be a bad thing too. It can become a cage for some people. A gilded cage made of gold, but a cage all the same. I personally would hate my life if I were trapped like that."

"Who said that she was trapped?"

"Couldn't you tell? Shirley, does she look like someone who's happy to you?" Georgie shook her head out of pity. "If anything, I feel sorry for her. It'd totally suck to be like her."

"Well, I happen to think that she's a very beautiful person, and that it would be nice to get to know her better. Maybe even be friends with her."

"Maybe. But isn't she the wife of the Weiss König? Eesh, Shirley, if I were you, I'd be really careful around her. Piss her off, and you could end up as a mutilated corpse at the bottom on the Antoine River."

She became indignant. "She's not like that. She's very polite, a true lady."

"Hmmm, well, we all thought that Mr. Lamperouge was a gentleman, but then we found out the truth about him, didn't we?"

"What are you talking about? He is a gentleman, he—"

"I was just kidding, Shirls. It was a joke. Come on, we've got to get back to work, or Nina'll tell us off again."

As she was dragged away, Shirley couldn't help but frown. Was Georgie right? Was Mrs. Corabelle really caged?

It wasn't until lunchtime when she realized that perhaps, perhaps, the reason why Mrs. Corabelle had paid her a visit was because she was lonely.

Perhaps.

. . .

As the car dove into the steady stream of vehicles, C.C. berated herself. Why, she scowled, had she gone to visit Shirley Fenette? Why had she bothered to find out where she worked, why had she bothered going there, and why had she bothered to go through the trouble of gaining access to one of the most elite tearooms in all of Pendragon, all just to meet a woman whom her past lover had apparently decided to sleep with? Why would she care? Why?

She had no business with her. She wasn't friends with her, she wasn't conducting business with her. They were completely unrelated save for one man, a man whom she had decided to ignore. As it happened, the only reason why she even knew of her existence was because of Lelouch Lamperouge, and God knew how much she detested to be even mentioned in the same sentence with him.

C.C. drew in a slow, deep breath. She wasn't going to dwell on him. She had promised herself that she wouldn't, and she would make good on that promise.

"Jeremiah."

"Yes, Madame?"

"Go to Fifth Avenue. I want to speak to—"

She threw a hand out to catch herself as the car was violently read-ended. What the—

Her chauffeur suddenly sped the car forward in complete disregard for traffic laws and common sense.

"Jeremi—" But he cut her off. "My apologies, Madame, however, please bear the discomfort for just a little longer."

She could hear Sayoko speaking in a business-like clip. "System pattern rouge. Yes. Approximately thirty seconds ago. Yes, we understand."

"Sayoko." Her mistress called for her attention as the maid opened the glove box of the vehicle to pull out two pistols. As she reached underneath her seat to retrieve a satchel of daggers, she explained the present situation.

"We are currently returning to the Schachmatt as protocol mandates due to the aggression the Hóng Hè just exhibited towards you. Master Schneizel is currently moving towards the Schachmatt as we speak, as are every single capo within a hundred mile radius from the Schachmatt., along with their individual outfits. Madame, we— Jeremiah!"

They swerved violently to the left just as the glass right besides C.C.'s ear splintered. She stared as another bullet attempted to penetrate the bullet-resistant glass, followed by another, and another, and another. As shot after shot rain down on her, it became increasingly obvious how the window wasn't going to hold up for much longer.

"Jeremiah, they're closing in, we need to—"

The window shattered.

She could distinctly hear Sayoko saying something, either to Jeremiah or to herself, but she wasn't quite sure. She wasn't quite sure of anything really, as the sedan weaved around the other cars dangerously and the speedometer needle trembled at the reckless 200 mph mark. Everything was just a blur of cacophonous sound and smudged paint.

All she could make out was silver hair whipping in the wind, gleaming from the depths of the black van that was keeping pace with them, its doors wide open so that she could see a pair of psychotic black eyes gleaming at her with a bestial hunger.

It was the Hóng Hè. They had come to catch her, to kill her.

The savage murderer, with his dilated pupils and deranged smile, seemed to mouth, "Hello, darling" before raising the muzzle of a gun so that it was directly aimed for her forehead.

She closed her eyes.

. . .

"Yes. Yes, I understand."

Suzaku Kururugi eyeballed the raven-haired man, slightly concerned. Though his back was turned towards him, he could tell that he was incredibly tense, completely on edge. What was happening? What was the phone call about, what had the person on the other line said to make such a cool and collected person so furious?

He watched as the man set his cell down slowly, carefully, before picking up his gloves. It made the trainer uncomfortably, uneasy. The way he moved was deliberate, as if he was fighting something, probably anger, as if he was struggling not to break something out of rage. It was extremely unnerving to see a person such as him so out of control of his emotions.

"Lelouch, what—"

Bam.

If it weren't for his reflexes, Suzaku would have probably stumbled backwards from surprise and the sheer force of the right hook. What was—

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, sl— Lelou— S— Stop. Lelouch, stop, ta— Calm down, you have to stop before you hurt yourself, you— Hey. Hey, he— Hey!"

He grabbed ahold of his wrists before demanding, "What is wrong with you? What's wrong, Lelouch? What the hell happened?"

"Nothing—" he snapped. But he wasn't having that. "What do you take me for, an idiot? What happened, Lelouch?"

Emeralds drilled into amethysts before the latter tore his wrists free. Roughly ripping off the boxing gloves, he threw them to the ground. He stared as his sweat slid down the geography of his face before falling to the mats below his feet. He watched one, two, three droplets before finally speaking in a low, barely-controlled growl.

"Do you remember that woman I told you about?"

"… Your ex-fiancé? Why? Did you… Did you see her again?"

"Apparently, the König is her goddamn husband. She was so close this entire time, and I never knew…"

He laughed, cruelly, coldly, at himself. All this time… All this fucking time, she had been right there, and he hadn't been the wiser. All this goddamn fucking time.

"How… How is she?" Suzaku cautiously asked. He knew that Lelouch was a part of the Weiss Ritter, and he knew bits and pieces of the Mafioso's tragic past romance, but what he didn't know was what to say or do in reaction to the news. Ask him about her? Let him continue beating the living hell out of the heavy bag? What? What was he supposed to do? What was the right thing to do? To say? He had never felt so lost.

"Oh, she's quite well," he replied. "For someone who's sold her body."

"… Lelouch, I don't—"

"He doesn't even love her," he snarled. "He doesn't even love her."

"… Does she love him?"

There was no reply. Shit.

"… You know, if you want, I—"

"You asked me earlier what had happened. That was just from the König himself. A month ago, he told me that, in the event that the Weiss Ritter go to war with the Hóng Hè, I am to protect his wife. Be with her, most, if not all, hours of the day. Every day. With her. Alone. Following her around, like some dog."

"Does the König know about your, uh… Your past with… With his wife?"

"If he knew, would he have appointed me as her personal body guard?"

Suzaku frowned grimly. "What are you going to do?"

"What else can I do, besides do as he orders?"

Silence enveloped the room as the raven-haired man struggled to control the despair, the anger, that was rising within him. Why? Why did this have to happen, why was this— What had he done to deserve this? It was so hard, so hard, trying to keep her at bay already, to keep his feelings at bay, and now, now he was chained to her, and it just…

"I'm going to get some gauze," announced the Japanese.

Lelouch merely stared at the fragmented mirror, his work of art. How ironic; his reflection was just as he felt; broken and disconnected.

Clenching his fist, he ignored the pain shooting through his arm, ignored the blood dripping to the ground, and just stared.

"Promise me one thing, dear."

"Anything," he replied. He moved his chair closer to the frail woman lying in the bed, who was buried and nearly lost in the folds of her hospital gown. She held his hand in between two weak, pale ones of her own, as she made an effort to speak to him.

"Promise me you'll protect my daughter. I trust no one but you, Lelouch dear. You can do that for an old lady such as myself, can't you?"

"I swear to you that she'll come to no harm."

"Such a sweet boy…" She smoothed his hair before cupping his cheek as she smiled up at him, faint traces of her beauty appearing. "My daughter should thank her stars for meeting you. I should thank my stars for having such a kind, thoughtful man taking care of my Cecaniah. I know she can be difficult at times, but believe me when I say that I've never seen her happier than when she's with you. Protect her for me, Lelouch, and make her happy. So, so happy that she'll forget all about her sick mother. Can you do that for me?"

Rising, he gently kissed her on the forehead, the woman who had raised the love of his life, the woman who he hoped to be his mother-in-law one day. She smiled, patting his hand, before whispering, "You should probably go now, dear. She's most likely angry at me, for keeping you to myself for so long. And we wouldn't want an angry C2 on our hands now, would we?"

That had been years ago, before C.C.'s mother had succumbed to her breast cancer, before everything had gone downhill. Before tragedy had ravaged his life.

Everything had come full circle. Years ago, he had made a promise to be her guardian, and now, here he was, shackled by the exact same vow. His past had finally managed to catch up with him.

Affliction is enamored of thy parts, they whispered, and thou art wedded to calamity.

He most certainly was.

He most certainly was wedded to calamity.

. . .

"That's enough."

The maid bowed before rising and packing up the first aid material. Ignoring her, C.C. stared at her husband, who had only just arrived. His hair was slightly windblown, and his clothes were a little ruffled, which sent alarms off in her head. Schneizel was never one who stood for disorder, whether it came to the Weiss Ritter or his personal appearance. It was true that he had just flown in by helicopter, but this was Schneizel el Britannia, not some other man.

So it was this serious.

"Cecaniah."

"Schneizel."

He took a seat across from her and quiet settled into the spacious bedroom.

"The Weiss Ritter has just declared war on the ."

"I heard."

He nodded. "There are some things I would like to discuss with you, my love. It is imperative that you realize that many aspects of our lives will be changing with this war."

"I don't mind," she intoned passively.

"The Hóng Hè are not one to trifle with, even for the Weiss Ritter. I've assigned someone to accompany you wherever you go for your protection."

"Who?"

"Lelouch Lamperouge."

She stared, refusing to believe him. "… Lelouch Lamperouge is the one who's going to be staying with me for my protection."

"He'll be assuming his responsibilities tomo—"

"Why not Sayoko? Or Jeremiah? I'm sure they would—"

"No. They don't kill, and I refuse to allow harm to befall you. Lelouch Lamperouge is the only man who fits the requirements out of the individuals I trust most. I—"

"Did he have anything to do with this?" she demanded. He replied that he had no part in the decision being made.

C.C. sneered. "So this is all your doing."

"Cecaniah—"

"It's all your doing, you're the cause of this."

"Cecaniah, my love, you know I—"

"I know what? What do I know? That you tore apart a young man and woman who had nothing but each other? Yes, I know that extremely well, Schneizel, thank you for being so gracious to go as far as giving me a reminder my every waking moment by placing him so close to me. I—"

"My love, this arrangement—"

"You promised me. You promised me that you would keep him away from me, so why are you doing this to me, Schneizel? I trusted you, and I made no protest when you told me that we would be having dinner with him. I did just as you requested. But why must you feel the need to do this? Haven't you had enough?"

He said nothing as she broke down in front of him.

"Assign someone else, Schneizel. Anyone else, I don't care who it is as long as it's not him. I'm sure the Weiss Ritter has more than one killer within its organization, send—"

"I'm sorry, my love, but this is in your best interest. The person I trust most to keep you safe is Lelouch, Cecaniah. I'm sorry, but I can't risk your life because of the absence of reason within men who have too much power."

She only wept, and he embraced his wife.

"It's true. I do know about your past with him. And I do apologize, my love, for forcing you to suffer in this way. But Lelouch Lamperouge is obedient, and a gentleman. I've observed him for a long time, and he is undeniably a man of his word. He's proven to me that he won't betray me and will do as he's told. He is the only individual capable of this role. It upsets me that it has to be like this, but this is the only way I can be sure of your survival, my love. Please understand what a difficult decision this was."

She merely buried her head into his chest, her warm, salty tears soaking his shirt.

Lies. They were all lies.

She cried, and cried, and cried, even when her husband was kissing her. Even when he was carrying her to their bed and untying her silk nightgown. As he leaned over her and performed the sacred ritual performed by husband and wife, C.C. wept.

For her future, for the pain that was yet to come, the torture.

For her heart, Cecaniah Corabelle shed tears of despair.

. . .

Shirley gawked as she stepped through the doorway. It was absolutely enormous, an entire palace in its own right. He lived here? Alone? How much money did he receive on pay day to be able to live in such a… An elite, high-class place such as this? Shirley had always read about them in the tabloids, or on the internet, whenever some celebrity decided to splurge just to show off how little they cared for materialistic wealth, but she could never have thought that she would know someone who lived in one of the multi-million dollar apartments, that she would be able to step into one of these flats, much less the penthouse…

It was like a dream.

An absolute dream.

There was a wall made entirely of windows where one could undoubtedly look out over the city's harbor in the early mornings and bask in the magnificent splendor of the rising sun. Elegant furniture stood proudly in their rooms, as if they knew how fortunate they were to live in such a luxurious home. There was even a spiral staircase, which meant that there was at least a second floor, never mind a third. A second floor! And a pool! There it was, shimmering on the spacious patio outside, lit up with the illumination countless, hidden spotlights offered.

It was a never-ending apartment, an apartment without a limit on rooms and space. An apartment made of magic.

"Would you like some tea?"

"T-tea?" Shirley followed his voice into one of the most glamorous kitchens she had ever rested her eyes on. She tried not to gape.

"I also have coffee, mineral water, and juice hand-squeezed from various fruits. To be honest, I'm not quite sure which fruits specifically, but Anya should know, and—"

"Anya? Who's Anya?" A second woman, possibly?!

"The housekeeper." He rubbed the back of his neck abashedly as he confessed, "I'm afraid I'm a bit of a workaholic; Anya makes sure dust is kept off of the furniture and that the kitchen is stocked with fresh food whenever I bother coming home."

"Is… Is she here right now, or…?"

"She didn't come today since it's Friday. Why?"

"N-nothing. Um, do you have some chai tea?"

"I should. Ah, here it is. Why don't you go sit down in the living room, and I'll join you once the tea is finished brewing."

She nodded before scampering towards the milky white leather sofa. The crystal chandelier overhead winked at her, glinting off of the glass coffee table and reflecting off of the plasma TV. As she gazed all around her, Shirley couldn't help but worry.

She had yet to ask him if he truly loved her. They had gone for dinner, and she had asked him how his day had been, and what had happened to his hand since it was wrapped in gauze that hadn't been there in the morning, to which he replied that his day had been fine and that he had had a minor accident in which he hadn't been careful enough. When he had seen her frown, he had smile, promising to be more careful in the future, and that had been it. That had been all of the questions she had asked him.

Why couldn't she ask him? It was a simple question. Everyone did it. It wasn't as if she was breaking a rule by asking him, she was only asking for confirmation, for reassurance, so it wasn't as if he could get angry for her wanting to know for certain.

… But what if he did get angry? And what if his answer was no, that he didn't love her? What would she do then? What could she do? She didn't want to fight with him, but there was also a burning desire within her to know, to hear from him, that he loved her, and it—

Huh? What was this?

Tilting her head to the side, she blinked at the overturned photographs lying messily on the coffee table. Pictures? Of what? She reached for them before stopping short. Wait… Wasn't this an invasion of privacy? What if Lelouch didn't want her to look at them? But… But if he didn't want anyone to look at them, why would they be out in plain view? And besides. What could he possibly be hiding? She already knew that he was in the mafia for the goodness' sake, it wasn't as if there could be anything wor…

It was Lelouch. A younger Lelouch, in his late teens, early twenties, who was trying to cover the camera lens with his hands, a partially annoyed, partially embarrassed expression on his face. How cute. Smiling, Shirley reached for the rest of the photos, wondering what other adorable snapshots she would discover. Some fluttered to the rug, and she berated herself for being so clumsy as she bent down to pick them up. Why was she always dropping things, and…

It was Mrs. Corabelle.

She looked much younger, and much, much, much happier and carefree. She was even smiling, her usual frown, her customary mask of apathy, nowhere to be seen. Lelouch was also there, and they were both wearing graduation caps and gowns. Lelouch was carrying her, as if she were a bride, as if she were his bride. There had apparently been a light breeze at the time, because her long emerald tresses were fluttering in the wind, mingling with the petals of cherry blossoms that were floating about. It looked like a scene straight out of a movie, like a romantic-comedy or something that she would have loved to watch, if only it weren't her boyfriend and some other woman starring in it.

Shirley felt her throat tighten.

Why had he been looking at these? He had clearly been, if they were out here. But why? Why? And what did it mean? Did… Did— What was the meaning of these pictures? Why were they out here, as if he had been studying them, as if he had been reflecting on some period in his life she hadn't been a part of? It—

A tiny gasp escaped her as the pictures were taken out of her fingers. Looking up, she saw that it was the raven-haired man. He gave her a tight smile before swiftly carrying the incriminating photographs far away from prying eyes that were trying their best not to shed tears.

It was a long time before any one of them spoke.

"Um… Lelouch?"

"… Yes, Shirley?" He returned from wherever it was that he had hid the evidence, completely guarded against her. She could tell that he had put up a wall, that he was preparing himself for her reaction, bracing himself. It only made her feel even more miserable.

"… Mrs. Corabelle told me that you met in high school. I guess that's true?"

"… What she said is correct," he replied slowly.

"Um… Um, Lelouch, you don't have to answer this, but, um… What exactly was your relationship?"

"I told you, Shirley," he said in a patient voice. He sat down besides her, offering her her warm cup of chai tea. "She's the wife of the Weiss Köni—"

"No, I mean… I don't mean what is your relationship. I mean what was it?"

There was silence, in which Shirley didn't dare look at his face. She was afraid that if she did, she'd see the truth she feared so much, and that she would burst into tears. And she decided that if she were going to say goodbye to him, she at least wanted to do it in a dignified fashion, not as a blubbering mess. So she studied the cup of tea as she waited for him to answer.

"… We were friends."

"F… Friends?"

"We were only friends, Shirley. There was nothing more to it," he lied. Well, it was a half-lie. It was true that he and C.C. had been friends in high school. In fact, they had been the best of friends, incredibly close with another. But what he had fed Shirley was just half of the truth, an incomplete lie, for though they had been friends during high school, they had been in love, though it wasn't until college that they had moved on to the next level. So, technically speaking, he told himself, he hadn't lied to Shirley. He just hadn't disclosed everything to her. Not that he wouldn't shy away from deceiving her, from lying to her. There were just some things she didn't need to know, some things he didn't feel like sharing. Some things she wouldn't, couldn't understand. It was for the best, to keep her in the dark. What she didn't know couldn't hurt her.

"Shirley, I—"

"Have you… Have you ever considered leaving?"

"Leaving?" He stared at her tight grip, her trembling hands locked around the mug of tea, as she said, "The mafia. Have you ever thought about quitting?"

He blinked at her before a dark chuckle accidentally slipped out. Confused, she frowned and looked up. Had she said something funny? Why was he laughing at her? She was being honest. She truly had been wondering if he had ever considered leaving the dangerous life he led for a quieter, safer one. So why was he laughing at her?

He leaned back into the sofa before replying, "You speak of desertion as if it were as easy as walking out of a room. They would kill me."

"Isn't that only if you become an informant for the law? I'm sure you wouldn't—"

"Besides… As the capobastone of the Weiss Ritter, I'm earning an average of $12 million a week simply by breathing. What occupation is there in the world that would support the lifestyle I've grown accustomed to?"

What a stupid question she had asked. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid Shirley. Stupid! How could she think to ask such a dumb question? $12 million! Of course there was a reason why he hadn't left the mafia. Money, and the threat of being hunted down would be enough to scare any man or woman into staying. She looked up, the beginning of an apology, already on her lips, when he said in a soft voice, "I know you only asked because you're concerned for my safety, Shirley. There's no need to berate yourself for caring about someone."

"But it—"

"It's fine, Shirley. I'm sorry, for laughing when you were being sincere. It's just… After spending the entire day with Mafioso, it's a little difficult to remember that there are people left in the world who sincerely care and worry for others."

Lelouch internally cursed. He had overdone it, he had over-calculated. Now she was struggling with guilt, guilt for not being so understanding; she was probably thinking about how selfish she was, and how she was a terrible girlfriend. She had begun to waver, if she hadn't already, as she became increasingly unsure of herself, of whether she really deserved to be in this relationship.

She was going to break up with him.

He wasn't going to let that happen. He needed her. Not in the way that their connection required, should have elicited. But he did, that was undeniable. He needed Shirley Fenette, he needed her to act as a guard, as a wall against Schneizel. And he wasn't going to let her slip away from him; he had invested far too much time in her to allow that to happen.

"Shirley."

"Lelouch, I… Are you— Lelouch, why are we in a relationship? I mean… Is… Is this just a, a joke to you, or—"

Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers every so lightly with just enough pressure, just enough emotion, to satisfy her. It was quick and chaste, but when he pulled away, her cheeks were painted a bright red and her eyes were wide open. The corner of his lip twitched. It had worked.

"Does that answer your question?" he asked gently.

"I…" She had been rendered completely speechless. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, as he began to recite the lines his silver tongue was handing to him.

"I'm sorry, Shirley, if I haven't been very loving to you. It was an inexcusable to treat you in such a way, and I'd like to apologize. Will you forgive me?"

It's… I… I understand, it's… It's okay. I'm sorry too, for doubting you…"

He smiled at her, pleased with himself. He had her wrapped around his finger so long as he kept bribing her like this from time to time. He did feel a flicker of guilt at leading her on; she did seem like a nice person, a pretty girl (though short hair didn't really suit her, not that he particularly liked women with short hair in the first place). Pity she wasn't his type. Pity she wasn't C.C.

That was right. She wasn't C.C., she was Shirley Fenette.

And quite frankly, that made all the difference to Lelouch, for Cecaniah Corabelle was the only one he loved and would ever love.

. . .

She slipped out of bed easily. It wasn't as if it was difficult to. Her husband wasn't touchy-feel, he wasn't a very intimate person. Unlike Lelouch, who had always embraced her afterwards, refusing to let go even in his sleep. Not that she had minded. It wasn't as if she had ever wanted to leave his arms in the first place.

Wrapping her silk robe around her unclothed frame, she wandered out onto the balcony. Closing the French doors behind her with a soft click, she stood alone, shivering in the chilly autumn night. The moon gleamed at her from above, and she brought her hand up to the light.

There it was. Her wedding ring, silently twinkling at her, as if one of the countless stars from above had landed on her finger.

She knelt down onto the ground.

It had been a long time since she had prayed. She had been raised as a Catholic when she had been younger, and the world had been softer. Not a devout follower, but a catholic who was still faithful enough to go to Mass every Sunday morning. Of course, over the years, as the world had become harder and more unforgiving, she had gone less, and les, until she could no longer truly call herself a person of the Catholic faith. But still… Somewhere inside her lay the remnants of the little girl who had once worshipped God. Maybe she was still in there somewhere, hidden underneath the layers of weariness shrouding her.

"Dear Heavenly Father… Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time. Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace. Taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it. Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will. That I maybe be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him. Forever in the next. Amen."

She slowly opened her eyes and looked up at the gentle face of the moon.

"All the bright, precious things fade so fast." She quietly whispered to herself the words he had often told her, unable to draw comfort from them as she once had. "And they don't come back."

Only this time, instead of finishing the way he had, with a kiss and a, "But I couldn't' care less since I have you," she spoke to her tears in a rough, uneven voice.

"They don't come back."

Somewhere, miles off, at the heart of the city of Pendragon, a young man with raven locks and brooding amethyst eyes looked up to stare unblinkingly at the very same moon. He said nothing, and simply stood still, silently studying the heavens.

Shirley had left long ago, immensely heartened by their first kiss, thus leaving the prince alone in his cold, lifeless castle.

Tomorrow would be the beginning of the end.

He felt a peculiar mixture of emotions. Anger was definitely one of them. Anger towards himself for putting himself in this situation, anger at the imbeciles who had the audacity to attempt to overthrow the Weiss Ritter, anger at Schneizel for taking C.C. away from him, for keeping her hidden from him, and anger towards the witch herself, for leaving him.

Fury simmered within him, but he knew that, underlying the screaming, raging Anger, was the strange fluttering of Anxiety and the intoxicating singing of Love. For the first time in four long years, Lelouch Lamperouge felt unsure of himself. He didn't know what kind of frame of mind he had had to have to successfully pass through this, he wasn't prepared for a situation like this, a situation that offered catastrophic outcomes only.

He didn't pray. He wouldn't pray. Unlike C.C., he hadn't been a very religious person. Not that she had been the most orthodox of Catholics either. But they were different in the way that he had abandoned God (or was it that God had abandoned him?) the moment he found himself completely and utterly alone in the world, his parents and sister cruelly stolen from him at the tender age of 4, while she had turned to Him for guidance, or at least some comfort.

He had always been alone until he had met C.C. How cruel it was of her to give him a taste of ambrosia, a peek of Elysium, before snatching it away from him. At least before he had met her, he couldn't really make any comparisons. But with C.C…. With C.C., he had realized that the decade he had lived through before he had stumbled upon her when he had won that scholarship for that elite private school had been a decade of loneliness. That his world had been one of darkness, until she led him towards the light, before she pointed out the silver lining to every cloud, whether it was intentional or not.

Lelouch prided himself on being prepared, and if not prepared, at least able to make swift decisions that allowed him to bypass the unexpected, and often life-threatening, situations unscathed.

But tomorrow…

He was ill-prepared and ill-equipped to deal with tomorrow, for tomorrow held the promise of a disaster of epic proportions that not even he could evade.

He didn't have a solution. He had nothing, he couldn't even do damage-control. There was just no other way but to simply accept the full force of the… The tsunami that was heading his way.

Lelouch Lamperouge wasn't scared. He had forgotten long ago what fear was. But he was confused, and if there was anything he learned about the underworld, then it was that confusion was often worst, and more fatal, than fear.

Tomorrow was most definitely the beginning of the end.

Indubitably.

. . .

"Madame, Mr. Lamperouge has arrived. He's currently waiting in the foyer for you."

"I understand. Thank you, Sayoko."

The maid nodded as her mistress rose from her seat. She stared at her reflection.

It was only brunch, she told herself. That was all. A small brunch at the Haven Rooftop at the Sanctuary Hotel. That was all to it, it was like any other day. She would go to the restaurant as was her custom where a table reserved by the staff would be waiting for her, regardless of whether she had actually called ahead or not. Nothing would be different, she reminded herself. Today would be just like any other day.

Everything would be different.

It was not like any other day, it would be the farthest it could be from her usual day.

As she descended the staircase, she chanted a mantra to herself with every step she took.

Brunch.

Hair appointment.

Brunch.

Hair appointment.

Brunch.

Hair appointment.

Brunch.

Hair appointment.

Bru—

"Good morning, Mrs. Corabelle."

He was being amiable, business-like. Polite, but distant. Good. She silently watched as he lifted her hand to his lips in greeting.

"Mr. Lamperouge."

"Shall we begin?"

She smiled stiffly before reclaiming her hand and slipping out of the house. It was a beautiful autumn morning outside. The sky was an impossible shade of blue. No one could have guessed that her world had come crashing down around her ears the evening before, that the world's most feared criminal syndicate had begun to mobilize for war.

And as the car pulled away from the Schachmatt to the Haven Rooftop, with Jeremiah at the steering wheel and Sayoko in the passenger seat as always, C.C. couldn't help but wonder.

The man seated besides her had asked her if she'd like to begin.

Begin what?

What beginning was there for the two of them? Beginnings weren't meant for them, endings were, and they had been robbed of even that. What in the world did he mean by beginning? What would begin?

Why, her very own personal apocalypse of course. What else?

Silly Cecaniah.

Silly, silly, Cecaniah.


End file.
